


True Colours

by Wheely_Jessi



Series: Song Shots [4]
Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Care, Disability, F/F, Hospitals, Medical Humour, Nurses & Nursing, Post-Canon, Singing, Songfic, Supportive fluff, Vague context of HIV/AIDS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23529922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheely_Jessi/pseuds/Wheely_Jessi
Summary: A post-canon one shot based on Cyndi Lauper’s songTrue Colors(but the spelling in the fic title reflects the fact I’m from the UK).It’s 1986-1987. Patsy has an important professional request for Delia.
Relationships: Delia Busby & Patsy Mount, Delia Busby/Patsy Mount
Series: Song Shots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1037367
Comments: 18
Kudos: 30





	True Colours

**Author's Note:**

> Music video is here: https://youtu.be/LPn0KFlbqX8 (lyric video in endnotes)
> 
> This is posted in memory of my dear childhood friend, Lauren Scott, whose fourteenth anniversary is today. She had a rare genetic condition and we met at special school. We used to sing duets together, even when she was in hospital. One of our favourites was _True Colors_ but it’s always been a bit too close to home for me to write fic about – maybe because I knew that Cyndi herself sang it in memory of her own dear friend who died of AIDS. That changed this year. I’ve found myself humming along to it for guidance as I try to fit grief into my wider sense of overwhelm around this newer pandemic. So I’m sharing the result in case it helps someone else.
> 
> Content Note for vague context of HIV/AIDS, hospitals, and medical humour, but this really is all supportive fluff with our girls being the amazing nurses they are. So I also dedicate it to all the wonderful health professionals, carers (including my own PAs) and keyworkers who are supporting the world through our current tricky time.

_‘But Deels –’_

_‘No Pats.’_

_‘I thought you’d be pleased. It’s a way for us to be connected with the community. You’ve been badgering me about being more involved for years, especially since the Gates closed, and here’s a very practical way we can help without it being too obvious. Please let’s apply for secondment to the new ward at Middlesex, so we can transfer when it opens to patients in January. Please –’_

_‘I just think it’ll be too triggering for you. It’s mostly palliative nursing,_ cariad _.’_

_‘Exactly. It’s what I’m best at, ironically, for a midwife. And the switch isn’t without precedent, even among our own colleagues. Jenny Lee left Nonnatus to move to Marie Curie in Hampstead –’_

_‘That isn’t a reason for you,_ annwyl _.’_

_‘It feels like a reason, and a rather apt one, actually. After all, you know it was her who put midwifery in my mind.’_

_‘_ Iesu Mawr! Jenny Lee _hadn’t nursed all her blood relatives in their last days before she reached the age of thirty!’_

 _‘You’re right. Perhaps she hadn’t. But she wasn’t entirely untouched by grief. She lost Alec just before I started work in Poplar. And_ I _still have_ you _. Largely thanks to the support of our friends who are also… like us.’_

_‘You really aren’t going to budge on this, are you, Nurse Mount?’_

_‘I can’t just sit and watch it happen. I’m not ten, or twelve, or even twenty-nine. I’m fifty-four, and I need to be useful, Nurse Busby.’_

_‘And I need to make sure you aren’t alone. All right.’_

_‘Really?’_

_‘Really.’_

~

Chattering calmly away whilst she swished open the curtain around the cubicle of the patient she had just assisted with a bedpan, then returned to his side to smooth over the covers, Patsy could feel another pair of eyes on the back of her head. Turning ever so slightly, she shot a shy grin at her fiancée, and mouthed, ‘Thank you,’ knowing they were both still brooding over their fraught conversation about the idea of leaving the London. The now greying brunette nodded, beaming back, and the fleeting moment of connection passed as they resumed their duties. However, the sense of relieved gratitude persisted for the elder of the two women. It was barely two weeks since they had started on the Broderip Ward, but she was already feeling as though she had found the professional home she had sought from the moment the Nonnatuns had relocated to Birmingham.

‘I’ll just get rid of this,’ she said brightly to her patient, moving to pick up the bedpan, and watching his eyes crinkle with amusement even as his nose wrinkled in disgust. She could not help grinning too, realising she had something to add that was a necessary but slightly awkward follow-on. ‘Once I’ve done that, I’ll source some lunch and sit with you, all right, Mickey?’

The young man’s grin vanished and his eyes grew wide, though whether with simple surprise or fear she could not immediately discern. ‘You don’t have to, Nurse Mount,’ he said softly.

She regarded him seriously for a few seconds, whilst making sure to maintain her smile. ‘No,’ she agreed amiably, in an equally quiet voice, ‘but _you_ have to eat, and conserve your energy whilst you do, so I’d like to help.’ She paused, pondering a possibility which had only just occurred to her as she spoke. ‘Unless, of course, you have someone else coming and want me to make myself scarce? Your – partner – perhaps?’ she went on, fumbling over the phrasing of the second question because the word still stuck in her throat after so many years of forcing _herself_ not to say it. Especially in a professional context. Then, hoping to deities in whom she hardly believed that he did not read her hesitation as _homophobia_ , she hurried to cover by posing a third query. ‘Peter, is it?’

The briefest of grins flashed across his face, making him seem far younger than his already-too-mature twenty-five years, but it was gone as quickly as it arrived, and his voice was sober when he answered. ‘He, um, said he needed a few days to process. It’s all happened quite quickly, from diagnosis to, um…’

He trailed off, so she kept her expression impassive, and her tone neutral, as she in turn replied, ‘I see.’ Then, though, she decided she ought to offer again. ‘In that case, I expect you could do with some company, and I’m more than willing. I’ll just forage for food in the fridges.’ She finished with that sentence, and made it deliberately alliterative, in hopes he would laugh.

He did – or at least chuckled. ‘Thank you, Nurse Mount.’

She let herself giggle too. ‘Of course. It’s Patsy, though,’ she reminded, realising she had neglected to correct him earlier. ‘We don’t stand on ceremony here.’

That made him laugh properly, and she stared at him in bemusement until he recovered his breath enough to explain. ‘Sorry,’ he said sheepishly, ‘it’s just that’s probably a very good way to put it, seeing as, for a lot of us, standing’s no longer really our forte.’

 _Her_ eyes grew wide, and she bit her lip to quell the mirth rising in her chest. ‘Careful, if you say something too funny, you might end up with the contents of this all over you,’ she admonished playfully, gesturing to the bedpan with her free hand. ‘It seems to me that’s a situation we’d both prefer to avoid,’ she continued in a now banal tone, ‘so I really am going to wash it out. But I’ll be back shortly, with something that’s hopefully rather more appetising.’ She turned deftly on her heel with that last word, although she could not resist a glance over her shoulder assess his response, and was perhaps more pleased than she strictly should have been to observe his mouth hanging open in horrified amusement. ‘Nice to know we have a similarly dark sense of humour, eh?’ she added, almost conspiratorially, before at last beginning to walk towards the sluice.

She did not get very far, however, as a friendly shout from a bed on the opposite side of the ward brought her to an abrupt halt. ‘Patsy, Mickey – Mam brought me in her cawl yesterday, and she made a fair bit, if you want some.’

The other young man’s Welsh accent still made her melt into an internal puddle; probably all the more so because he was assigned to the care of her own favourite Welshwoman. So, without even thinking about what her knowledge of the language might convey, she called back, ‘ _Diolch yn fawr iawn,_ Dafydd.’ Then she turned to Mickey yet again to check he was agreeable. ‘It’s a meat and vegetable stew of sorts, though I daren’t let him hear me simplifying it like that – but, however we define it, I’d say it’s exactly what you need,’ she explained.

‘I trust you,’ he replied almost immediately, and hearing those three words so comparatively soon made her heart swell. But she merely nodded, shooting him a small smile, and the only sign of the effect of his statement was the slight spring in her step as she headed off to the sluice for the second time.

Then, the bedpan dealt with and her hands thoroughly scrubbed, she went to find the cawl in one of the fridges and marvelled, for what must have been the millionth time, at the magic of a microwave oven. Satisfied by the rising steam that it was sufficiently heated, she made her way back to Mickey’s bed, expecting to find him as happy as he had been when she left. However, his face had a rather different tinge. Not of pain, thank goodness – she was veteran enough to know the tell-tale etches of that, at least – but of anxiety. So, instead of rushing right into nurse mode, she placed the two bowls and spoons she was carrying on a safe surface and sat (hopefully nonchalantly) in the chair beside his bed. ‘All right, old thing?’ she asked, adopting her quiet voice from earlier.

He met her gaze with wide eyes again, but they were sparkling, so it seemed her strategy had worked. ‘What decade are you in?’ he quipped, chuckling.

‘I think you’ll find it’s “ _which_ decade”, _Michael_ ,’ she replied evenly, although she used his full first name and raised a brow to show she was kidding, then used his impudence to segue into the more sensitive subject. ‘Now, if you don’t consider me too ancient to offer assistance, d’you fancy telling me what’s happened in the past ten minutes to make you look like a rabbit caught in headlights?’

He smiled slightly now, appearing to appreciate her guidance, and whispered, ‘It’s nothing. I’m just being silly.’

She shook her head. ‘There’s no such thing as “silly” in a situation like this.’

He grimaced, but nodded. ‘Okay. Well, I realised when you were fetching it that stew wasn’t the most sensible meal for me to try and eat…’ He trailed off, gesturing at his position.

She nodded, having suspected his concern was something of that sort. ‘That’s what I’m here for,’ she said, hoping he would catch her meaning, but going on to offer an alternative arrangement before verbally persuading him towards what she felt would be most practical. ‘We could set you up with an over-bed table.’

He grinned. ‘Thanks for the confidence boost, but I don’t think I’m even up to that with such a liquid-y food, and I’d say _you_ don’t think so either.’

All she answered was, ‘There’s no shame in being fed,’ because she was worried a more detailed response might belie her own history of just such an emotion. Then, when he nodded again, she got up to get his bowl. Testing the temperature by touching the side, she checked he was ready to eat, and started spooning cawl into his mouth.

‘What about you?’ he murmured between swallows, clearly still wary of being an imposition.

‘Oh, I made mine piping hot, so it’ll be just right to eat when you’ve finished,’ she reassured him. ‘All you need to concentrate on for the next few minutes is chewing, so it goes down easily.’

He did as he was told, apparently using the pause to ponder, then spoke prior to accepting another mouthful. ‘You think of everything, don’t you?’ he asked, staring up at her, awestruck.

His gratitude was so genuine it almost made her blush. ‘I’ve been doing this a while,’ she replied simply.

‘Still,’ he insisted, ‘it’s impressive. And you know, as much as I want Pete to be here because I haven’t got anyone else, I’m sort of glad he’s not. I don’t think either of us would handle _this_ well.’ He paused again to gesture at the bowl and spoon. ‘I’d get embarrassed, or he’d spill it down my front, or both…’

She nodded in sympathy as he trailed off. ‘It can be embarrassing, yes, and sometimes you just want to hide away. So distance can be helpful. But these things can bring you closer together, too,’ she counselled softly, ‘so, next time he’s in, I’d be happy to help you talk everything through. If you’d like, that is.’ He was silent, despite not having his mouth full, and his expression was now nearly as unreadable as hers could be at times. She was momentarily terrified that she had gone too far, but then his lips quirked into a lopsided smile and the similarity of their personalities was cemented. ‘What?’ she asked in a relieved whisper.

‘You aren’t speaking in the abstract, are you? You really understand what this all feels like, don’t you?’

His questions were so earnest that she could not bring herself to deflect, although she was sure she blushed far redder than she had in years as she answered. ‘Up to a point. I nursed my father through his last months with motor neurone disease when I was roughly your age. We hadn’t been…on the best terms…for quite some time. That changed when I went home. It didn’t fix everything, but it made us both feel better.’

He hummed. ‘My folks and I aren’t in touch any more either. It’s safer that way, and mostly I don’t mind, but since I’ve been a patient here I do regret how we parted ways. So many of the guys have their mums coming in. Like Dafydd.’

She hummed too. ‘I’ve noticed. It was a surprise, I must admit, but a nice one. And the rules are much more relaxed here than other wards I’ve worked on.’

‘What did you do before?’

She knew she really ought to scold him for talking so much – not because she minded, but for the sake of his body – but his interest was so endearing she could not help humouring him. ‘Midwifery, actually.’

His smile grew. ‘Quite a change.’

She could have predicted that jokey observation, but let him think she found it funny. ‘Yes. For one thing, babies don’t answer back,’ she quipped drily.

He barked out a laugh. ‘I imagine the mothers do, though.’

She nodded, giggling too. ‘Indeed. But so did the men I cared for before them, on Male Surgical.’

The shift backwards was unconscious on her part, and she heard herself speak before realising what she was saying, blushing. Then he responded, and her blush turned pale. ‘Did your father?’

She replied as offhandedly as she could whilst she recovered, hiding behind humour. ‘Not once we’d established who was boss.’

‘I bet it didn’t take long. You seem a formidable force.’

Now _she_ barked out a laugh. ‘I’m glad the façade’s still holding up.’

He looked awkward, seeming at last to understand that they were visiting unorthodox, if not exactly uncharted, territory. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t pry.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s all right. You’re sharing enough of yourself with me, because you have no other choice. The least I can do is return the favour. So I’ll tell you my story. On condition you eat whilst I talk.’

He grinned in surprise. ‘See? Formidable force,’ he said triumphantly. Then, apparently noticing her raised eyebrow, he opened his mouth obediently.

‘See?’ she repeated with a smirk, ‘Wasn’t that hard, was it? But I ought to keep up my end of the bargain.’ She paused, musing over where to begin as she made sure he could manage each mouthful she offered. ‘So, um, as a child, during World War Two, I was interned with my family in South East Asia. The men were separated from the women and children. My mother and sister got sick, and I had my first encounter with nursing in the hospital areas of the camps. It made me want to help people, even if I couldn’t heal them. Then, after the War, I was hospitalised myself, for malnutrition, among other things. That gave me an idea of the patient’s perspective,’ she paused again briefly to grin sheepishly and waggle her eyebrows towards his (now much emptier) bowl, ‘but it also gave me a purpose. Which I needed in order to work through what had happened. Papa and I were both too consumed by our grief to be able to support each other at that point.’

She stopped when he next swallowed. He looked as though he had something to say, and _she_ had said all she could, so she was quite content to listen again. ‘God – that makes my fall out with my folks sound very tame,’ he murmured. ‘You must think I’m pathetic.’

‘On the contrary,’ she returned immediately. ‘I think you’re very brave, and not in a condescending way at all. It takes guts to be yourself regardless of what other people think. I’m just sorry most of those _other people_ only care enough to interfere, instead of _intervening_ to offer support with this terrible disease.’ He smiled sadly, but was quiet. So she balanced the spoon in the bowl to squeeze his hand, and observing his emotional discomfort, elected to deflect on his behalf. ‘Come on then, let’s finish this cawl,’ she said in her most subtly persuasive manner.

But he had other ideas. ‘Patsy?’

‘Yes, Mickey?’

‘How come you could answer Dafydd in Welsh when he offered us this for lunch?’

She felt herself flushing again, but fought to keep her voice calm, even as the answer was already falling from her lips. ‘Oh, my fiancée speaks it,’ she explained, eternally grateful that, in French, both genders of the noun sounded the same.

‘Ah,’ he replied, and his wistful tone made her think that would be the end of the enquiry. But he went on, apparently still seeking distraction. ‘Have you been engaged long?’

His phrasing made her turn her head a fraction, desperate to find the woman of whom it was so evocative. Catching Delia’s eye as _she_ sat next to Dafydd, she grinned, grounded again – though seemingly not sufficiently to stop her response to Mickey mirroring her own from many years before. ‘A little while.’ Then she had a thought so unexpected that it made her blurt out something more specific. ‘Gosh, you know, nearly your whole life.’

She was terrified the second she said it, but he looked totally nonplussed. ‘ _What!?_ Why on earth aren’t you married yet? If I had the option, I wouldn’t wait…’ She said nothing, still in shock at her openness, but she was also slightly intrigued to see if he would work it out on his own. And he did. ‘Oh. _No! Really?_ ’ he asked, his face flooded with amazement…and an admiring smile?

She nodded, now unable to hold back her own grin. ‘Really.’

He was so delighted he slapped his knee, an action she saw him immediately regret, but he quickly masked the pain. ‘That’s dedication.’

She chuckled. ‘I’m not sure I’d go as far as to call it that. Patience, perhaps. Which would lead both her and Papa to say I’m at last living up to my full first name.’

He grinned even more. ‘That’s what “Patsy” is for?’ She nodded a second time as he hummed. ‘You shouldn’t’ve told me that.’

She knew she had gone pale again, her fingers were tightening around the spoon, and her voice was brittle when she replied. ‘I only did because you asked – and it was in confidence –’

He shook his head. ‘Not _that_ ,’ he reassured, and the ingrained icicles of terror began to thaw as quickly as they had formed (out of habit), replaced by her amusement at the reversal of their roles. ‘I’m hardly likely to grass you up, am I? Besides, I doubt anyone here would bat an eyelid.’

She bit her lip, half to stop a most unprofessional snort at his joke – he and Delia would get on very well indeed! – and half feeling guilty for leaping to an unfair assumption. Once she was certain of her composure, she said sheepishly, ‘Oh. My name?’

He nodded, grinning again. ‘I’m going to have far too much fun with that.’

She narrowed her eyes in good-natured annoyance. ‘The only thing you’re going to do, young man, is eat up this stew.’

Looking suitably chastened, if still full of glee, he accepted the rest of the meal without any further sass. Then, having helped him get cleaned up, she resumed her companionable position in his bedside chair to eat _her_ lunch. She had yet to completely comprehend that this was not just allowed but encouraged, and part of her wanted to make an excuse to escape; but she had offered. And she was not one to go back on her word. So she stayed, spooning stew into her own mouth, with the occasional exaggerated slurp to show him noises like it were totally normal. He probably knew precisely what she was doing, and why, but he just grinned…which made her keep going. Once she was done, she did leave again, although only to sort their dishes.

Again not strictly her job, but all the boundaries on the Broderip were blurred, and she had needed a moment. When she was ready to return to the main ward, however, her haste was interrupted by the appearance of Delia, and the equilibrium she had thought was restored (by washing the bowls and then her hands) suddenly felt much less certain.

‘ _Helo, annwyl,_ ’ Delia said in a lilting whisper. ‘You seem… content.’

‘I am,’ she agreed, nodding, ‘and I’m so grateful. But I also feel utterly helpless. I want to do more for our patients and I can’t. They shouldn’t be in this situation, but they are, and it’s awful. And it’s exactly like Mama and Grace – because of the environment in which they find themselves and the lack of adequate treatment. You were right, Deels, it _is_ triggering, and I’m worried it’ll prove too much for me to be useful…’

She trailed off as she saw the smaller woman’s eyes glint with steely determination. ‘I’m not. _You_ were right, Pats; this is what you’re best at. I know you wish you could offer more, but you always do, regardless of the kind of patients you’re working with – and you’re giving them exactly what they need. I’ve been watching you with Mickey today, and I can bet he’s not laughed so much in a very long time. Nor have you, for that matter, without a way to ease what you’d call your “existential angst” about all this. So have a little faith in yourself, Patience.’

Rolling her eyes at the pun which ended the pep talk, she was nevertheless glad of the (mostly) objective assessment. So she asked for some extra advice. ‘And how would you suggest I do that?’

Delia beamed at the question. ‘Follow Cyndi Lauper’s lead, and trust in your true colours.’

‘You mean as in the song?’ She wished she could offer a more animated response, but she was confused. Music was their private thing, and they were currently in a very _public_ place. Anyone could walk past and hear.

She watched as her eye-roll was matched. ‘Of course as in _the song_ , _cariad_ ,’ the brunette answered breathily, ‘I’ve hardly let you listen to anything else since it was released, because it makes me think so much of you. But if you need reminding of the important lyrics –’

She cut her off quickly. ‘No! Not _here_.’

But Delia had already started singing…

‘ _Show me a smile then_

_Don’t be unhappy, can’t remember_

_When I last saw you laughing_

_If this world makes you crazy_

_And you’ve taken all you can bear_

_You call me up_

_Because you know I'll be there_ ’

…and seemed to have no intention of stopping. And it was rather adorably supportive, really, because somehow her beloved “Nurse Busby” knew just what _she_ needed. Public place or no public place. So she did not interrupt. In fact, inexplicably, she found herself joining in with the chorus:

‘ _And I’ll see your true colors_

_Shining through_

_I see your true colors_

_And that’s why I love you_

_So don’t be afraid to let them show_

_Your true colors_

_True colors are beautiful_

_Like a rainbow_ ’

Delia was beaming even more as they reached the end, and whispered in Welsh again, ‘ _Da iawn,_ Pats.’

She just stared back, bewildered – partly because it always surprised her how well their voices still blended as they aged, and partly because she just could not find the words. But Delia understood, squeezing her hand. And then she was saved from having to speak at all by the arrival of someone else. ‘Delia, Patsy, what lovely singing.’

They both turned, blushing, and Patsy spoke up at last, as protective as ever. ‘Sorry, Sister Elliott.’

‘Jacqui,’ the younger woman reminded with a slight tut, then grinned shyly, clearly still a bit awkward about engaging authoritatively with two nurses twice her age and experience. ‘And please don’t apologise. You’ve seen we do things differently here – we _have_ to – and I think _that’s_ very positive example of our approach. So…’ She paused, apparently to figure out how to put her sentence and not to create suspense, ‘how would you feel about…a late lunchtime recital?’

Patsy was powerless to bite back the shocked giggle that sneaked past her lips. ‘Sorry,’ she said a second time, even though apologies had already been dismissed, ‘I just haven’t sung seriously in public for roughly twenty years.’

‘And _I_ think it’s high time that changed,’ Delia countered, sharing what she could have sworn was a wink with their younger yet senior colleague.

‘So do I,’ Jacqui said triumphantly.

The Sister-in-Charge was grinning boldly now, and Patsy observed inwardly how reminiscent her short brown hair and belligerent personality was of their former fellow midwife, Val Dyer’s. Deciding that could only be a good sign, she nodded. ‘All right. Anything to cheer everyone up.’

With that, they all trooped back to the ward, and Patsy’s nerves meant she did not pull away when Delia grasped her hand as they walked. Or even when they stood (vaguely) in the centre of the wide room to sing. She saw Mickey see, and held his gaze, although she did at last loosen her fiancée’s grip. She would make up for the loss of contact through the effort she expended in singing, and then afterwards through an admission for which she never thought she would possess the courage. But that could wait four minutes or so, she thought wryly as Sister Elliott – Jacqui – called for quiet (gently, of course, given…everything). ‘Afternoon everyone. I overheard two of our wonderful nurses singing by the fridges just now, and I’ve persuaded them to share their talents with the rest of you as well, because the song has a message I think we can all appreciate. So please give a moment of your attention to Patsy and Delia.’

And that was their cue to begin:

‘ _You with the sad eyes_

_Don’t be discouraged_

_Oh I realize_

_It’s hard to take courage_

_In a world full of people_

_You can lose sight of it all_

_And the darkness inside you_

_Can make you feel so small_

_But I see your true colors_

_Shining through_

_I see your true colors_

_And that’s why I love you_

_So don’t be afraid to let them show_

_Your true colors_

_True colors are beautiful_

_Like a rainbow_

_Show me a smile then_

_Don’t be unhappy, can’t remember_

_When I last saw you laughing_

_If this world makes you crazy_

_And you’ve taken all you can bear_

_You call me up_

_Because you know I’ll be there_

_And I’ll see your true colors_

_Shining through_

_I see your true colors_

_And that’s why I love you_

_So don’t be afraid to let them show_

_Your true colors_

_True colors are beautiful_

_Like a rainbow_

_If this world makes you crazy_

_And you’ve taken all you can bear_

_You call me up_

_Because you know I’ll be there_

_And I’ll see your true colors_

_Shining through_

_I see your true colors_

_And that’s why I love you_

_So don’t be afraid to let them show_

_Your true colors_

_True colors_

_True colors are shining through_

_I see your true colors_

_And that’s why I love you_

_So don’t be afraid to let them show_

_Your true colors_

_True colors are beautiful_

_Like a rainbow_ ’

As their harmonies resolved on the last note of the final chorus, the ward around them erupted, no-one paying any heed to being shushed, and they blushed bright red. Eventually, though, even the most eager admirers (namely Mickey and Dafydd) had to quieten down to save their energy. So, with a gentle glare of the kind Patsy herself had taken nigh on her whole career to perfect, Jacqui managed to bring her charges into line fairly swiftly. ‘If that’s the response,’ she reasoned, ‘we may have to make this a regular occurrence – with other people performing as well, that is.’

At the suggestion, everyone got excited again, and Patsy elected to use the opportunity to tug her still blushing fiancée towards her patient’s bed. Delia looked about as bewildered as she had earlier, and whispered, ‘What are you doing, Pats?’

She said nothing until they were close enough for a covert conversation between the three of them, and then joined in with a whisper. ‘Showing you my true colours, Deels. And I’d like _you_ to show Mickey your ring.’

The smaller woman’s bewilderment became concern for a second. ‘Sure?’

She nodded sincerely. ‘Sure. I don’t think it’s wise to be flashing it about, even here, because the rules aren’t as lenient for us as they are for our patients. But this young fellow wheedled it out of me somehow,’ she went on as she saw him grin wickedly, ‘and he was amazed there are people on the staff who understand because of more than just compassion. So I think an unwritten part of our job description is to be role models.’

Delia nodded along, seeming to comprehend. ‘I think you’re right, you know,’ she said, reaching to unclip the chain nestled around her neck – presumably because it was quicker and more decent than unbuttoning her uniform. ‘And besides, this is much more discreet than some of the guys snogging their partners for the duration of a visit. Unless you want me to do that, too, _cariad_?’

Patsy could only stare, scandalised, as _her_ partner and patient giggled delightedly at the prospect of ganging up.

True colours indeed, she thought with a tut.

**Author's Note:**

> The ward they work on, the Broderip, was real – and the first in the UK dedicated to patients with HIV/AIDS. It was opened officially by HRH Princess Diana in April 1987 and you can read about it here: https://www.unaids.org/en/resources/presscentre/featurestories/2019/october/20191003_Broderip_Ward 
> 
> The Sister-in-Charge, Jacqui Elliot, is based on a real person too. I got her likeness from this photo: https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/news-photo/the-aids-ward-at-middlesex-hospital-which-opens-19th-news-photo/851665024
> 
> I hope I’ve done her justice. All other characters are entirely fictional, either my creation or of the CtM team.
> 
> Lyric video here: https://youtu.be/2ecaYj14z3M
> 
> Thank you for reading – stay home (if you can), stay safe and well. Special gratitude to Catching Up and Jojo for feedback and support right now.


End file.
